Thinking Too Much
by Angelblaze2007
Summary: A first person thought based Erotica, featuring Dazai as a socially anxious mess who doesn't like himself too much


How is it that in a world of billions I manage to only be sated when I'm with you or people like you? That my mind twists and turns away, shuns every peering eye that isn't a black sheep or ugly duckling. Don't get me wrong, I've read much on it, there's no such thing as mind readers and even if they were, they'd be trapped in the same hell as me.

No, my issue is that I cannot feel for even a moment without you, as if I am _with_ you, I am separate and alien from you and that is both incredible and frightening because it means we can hurt each other, that I can appear to be a freak in front of you when all I want to do is love and I can never be sure precisely what you're thinking. Has anyone told you you have such wondrous depths?

Is it normal that I should be standing here at the door looking at the curve of your back in the night, in awe of how the moonlight hits the sheets? How the sheets hide enough to raise my curiosity, despite knowing your body better then anyone else? I don't think it is, I don't think any of what I feel for you is normal. Which is good, it explains why my fingers burn when I touch your skin, when I run my thumb against your cheek then drag against your lips only so I can feel the way the skin gives and bends to me.

Atsushi, don't tell anyone, don't even know it yourself but for the first time, I feel as if you're telling me the truth. When I kiss your shoulder and nothing happens, when I touch your lips and embrace your skin and the only reaction I get from you is a stir or a light sigh. I feel as if that's the strongest truth you've ever told; In the end, the only one enjoying what occurs between the two of us is me.

Now, that isn't to say that there is a malice in your actions. Whether for good or ill, we've all our masks to wear and parts to play. I tell a joke and you smile or laugh based upon measured and simple discretion of whether you approve or don't approve. I kiss you and you sigh, based on whether you enjoyed it or not - and you always seem to, but I can't help but wonder if you, much like an instrument, simply play the notes you're given.

I touch you and you react, you touch me and I react in turn but the difference is that you want nothing to do with me. All of what occurs is only for me.

Which begs the question; do you do this because you pity me, certainly it can't be love, certainly when I touch you, there's no flame in you beyond mere, simple ecstasy which will fade in time. There's nothing like what I feel; a blacked fire that burns the tips of my fingers for daring to touch. If there is...

If there is then I'm afraid for us both. Do you think the same thoughts that I do, late at night, when you're overcome with a grief you can't answer - when in an instant you feel the weight of the world pressing on you, on your shoulders and every action and reaction and breath becomes a measured, staining movement-

No, I have to answer no. If you do think like me, don't tell me, please, because I don't want to know.

Your hand presses against me and I feel I've played a trick on you, a magic trick of the eye that makes you want me. Surely, surely no one could want me, no one could want to touch me but your hand stays and rounds my chin and neck, then through my hair. Then your mouth against mine and I want to push you away not because of you, but for you. I want to ask you what you're thinking and why out of everyone else, out of infinitely more deserving people, have you chosen me to give this kiss to and by extension this body, your body, the purest canvas for me to ruin.

"Dazai, could you - could you touch me more, please?"

Is this the sort of proposal where I'm following orders and your question is a nicety or is this more along the lines of me being a stand in for a greater man who wouldn't need to be told how to melt you? I slip my hand between your legs and breathe in your scent, this is right, basic, simple. I wish you'd order me more if only so that I would be more sure of how to give you what you need.

You, of all people barking orders at me, if you asked me to tear you apart or love you tenderly, slowly, tortuously as if to make the next hours into years of wait, that would ruin me in the same beautiful way I want to ruin you. The thought alone is enough to bring a smile to my face. "Thank you."

"For what?"

I kiss your lips, not all thoughts need to be released, unabashed. Draw my hands down your thighs and with the faux innocent widening of your golden eyes in the moonlight, I feel as if I'm being eaten whole. You have to know what this does to me, the shaking I feel below the pit of my stomach, something wild, tightening and fierce enough to consume you back. Perhaps that's a better idea, not you being a mere object and plaything to my fantasies but a combatant, as strong and as frightening as me - more so, actually.

Because you can break me, if you haven't already, you hold me in your arms every day but I have yet to hear those words that can break me. I've told you coded secrets and mumbled words that would destroy me if you whispered them to other ears and I'm still here, unfortunately for the rest of the world.

I wonder what you wonder while I do this, what thoughts pop into your mind while I deflower you. Or if any of that madness matters with your thighs around my sides and my mouth against your neck while you sing my name, while the head of the bed makes marks in the walls and the neighbors come to both hate and envy us.

Your nails down my back are sweeter then your moans - I have the markings to display now. Imagine that, should someone see my back and see those markings and you, with your mused hair and bruised lips with my teeth on your throat, my marks on your willing skin. "Fuck." My head hits the sheets, I can't believe how weak you've got me or I can, its just that I wasn't expecting to be _this_ weak for you. Quite the combatant indeed.

I feel nails against my hips, the quiet mumbling of a strained voice, 'Give me, give me more, please-please' and I can't do anything more but give you more until you shout my name, eyes rolling and mouth hot and wet against me while I tumble after you, completely lost for you.

"D-dazai, you're, you're drooling on me, how drunk did you get?"

Or perhaps, at least for tonight, I shouldn't ask.


End file.
